


Heartmates

by Lazarth



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awesome Shuri (Marvel), Genius Shuri (Marvel), M/M, Nakia is AMAZING, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Rating May Change, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, heartmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarth/pseuds/Lazarth
Summary: Promy fill:"M'Baku/T'Challa Soulmate AUWhere a rebellious teen M'Baku met teen T'Challa when he snuck into Birnin Zana to “get to know the enemy” despite his father repeatedly not telling him to. He found T'Challa, hiding and crying (he was upset bc of something his father said or maybe because he was not doing well at the Academy), and said, “Aren’t you the prince?”"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I might change the rating as the other chapters are released and I will likely take the first chapter down for additional edits. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The black letters curves around the wrist that would fit so perfectly in his hand.

_“Aren’t you the prince?”_

Written elegant and sharp. Dark words starkly visible against the sickly pale flesh and snow. A dark bruise was visible right above the words and below as if the words did not allow pain to take shape in their hallowed ground. Truthfully, it was where the band of the usurped king’s shield had taken majority of the blow.

M’Baku could be forgiven for being sentimental in his own mind.

His own hand traced the line down his side where the words he had stared at for hours, days, years.

_“I did not expect to be so embarrassing the first time we met.”_

Had he not known to whom those words belonged, he would have been endlessly amused. He still was sometimes. Their first meeting was hardly picturesque.

\---

The Primes were scrambling around in the Vault far above the quiet patch of snow where the young future chief of the Jabari stood. He grinned wide as he pulled the hood over his head and trudged farther down the mountain. It wouldn’t be prudent to sneak out of his father’s home only to be caught a few feet away from the city. His destination was clear in his mind and he wound his way down the snow filled path, leaving the isolation of Jabari land to the warm planes where the city of the Golden tribe, the blessed of Bast, stood.

Oh, how quickly he had gotten lost in the bright streets of Birnin Zana. Voices and noises and sounds and smells. They were all over whelming and disorientating.

His little expedition to gather information on the enemy and get the lay of the land had derailed quick.

While the Vault was anything but quiet, it was not so over bearing as the loud city before him. Men and women milled around in the streets, dressed in bright clothing and laughing bright laughs. The temperature had also turned against him as he felt the fur he was wrapped in to slowly sodden.

He would not lose face, if only to himself. He had been here with a purpose and he would see it fulfilled.

Wounding his way through the streets, ducking in to an alley or behind a vendor stall whenever he saw a member of the Sheildarm or the Dora Milaje walking in his general direction.

Hanuman himself must have been the one to guide his wayward feet. There was no other explanation for how he had managed to navigate the entirety of the city and end up at the foot of the Birnin Zana Polytechnic Prep. M’Baku found himself wandering the gardens before the looming structure. Taking in the stony faces of previous Black Panthers as they stood tall upon their pedestals. He did not feel intimidated by the leaders of the Golden Tribe for here he stood amongst their city and their guards had not stopped him.

A sudden sound made him nearly jump out of his skin.

Perhaps he was a bit intimidated.

Another sound followed the first.

Hiccupping sobs flowed out of a hidden patch of the vast gardens.

M’Baku scolded himself at feeling scared of such a thing as he crept towards the person making the sounds.

A small figure sat huddled against one of the pedestals which held a fierce woman, staring off into the dark of the night.

Small hands wrapped around bony knees that poked against the black fabric of the figure’s uniform. On one of the slim finger sat a thick band, marking the person taking in shaky breaths to be a member of the royalty. M’Baku only knew of one from the Golden tribe’s ruling family that was so young.

“Aren’t you the prince?”

The words escaped his lips and into the night air before he could stop them.

A flash of gold.

His eyes turned towards the words he had just spoken glowing a tender gold on the wrist of the very hand he had been studying before turning black once. Innocent of the world shattering revelation they had just announced.

For the first time in his life, M’Baku wished he was blind.

He did not want to see the eyes that gazed back at him from the protective barrier of slender arms.

He did not want to see the tears in their corners.

He did not want to see the flash of pure joy and excitement that replaced the hurt.

He did not want to see them smile at him so.

“I did not expect to be so be embarrassing the first time we met.”

The gentle hum of the words running up his flank was a fire. Burning against his thoughts and throwing his mind into turmoil.

He did not turn at his heartmate voiced surprise as his legs carried him away from the gardens. Away from the young boy who looked at him with awe and bone deep longing.

“Stop!” The voice echoed against buildings and trees.

“Please!” It crashed against his bones and heart.

“Come back.” He steeled himself and kept moving.

M’Baku did not stop his breakneck pace until he was well into Jabari land, into the Vault and into his father’s home.

The Primes cried in surprised as he barreled past them and into his own bed chambers. For the first time since his mother’s passing, M’Baku allowed himself to weep openly and completely.

He wept for the nights he would not spend with his Heartmate, for the days without his presence, for the lifetime without those beautiful eyes looking up at him with such adoration. His tears spilt for many hours, well into the day glow of the morning sun.

M’Baku committed those eyes to his mind, knowing that he would never see them again.

\---

The Great Gorilla watched with rapt attention as the healers puttered around the vast chamber. They rubbed pastes and extracts over the many wounds the river had littered the Black Panther’s body with. He avoided looking at the man’s torso. He could not bear to witness the scar he had left on the body before him. While the Heart Shaped herb had healed the former king after their bout, the pale skin of the scar remained.

M’Baku could not gaze upon it.

\---

For the second time in his life, M’Baku wished to be blind. The eyes in his memory gaze back at him now from behind the mask of the panther. Littered with the purple of the herb that raced through his veins, marking him as Bast’s chosen.

He did not wish raise his blade against his Heartmate but his honor as the Jabari chief demanded he do so. His father before him had faced the newly crowned king, and his father’s father before him. He wondered if any of them faced the person their very being resonated with. Did any of them see the eyes of their opponents in their dream?

He fought with the might of a Jabari chief. He did not hesitate in his blows. Every swing connecting with razor sharp precision, raising a bruise with each contact. The Jabari wood sang a quiet song underneath his hands as though it sensed his hesitation. His heart cried as he spilled the first blood. The edges of the Panther’s mouth tinging a deep crimson.

His Heartmate was stronger still. Pleading him to yield at the edge of the Warrior Falls. T’Challa’s voice drowning under the rush of water and chanting crowd.

M’Baku’s pride had been only a bit wounded but his entire body sang with praise for how strong the young boy he had once met so long ago had become. Here, before him, was not a lost child crying in the night for some perceived wrong. Here, stood in front his subjects, was the king, the Black Panther, T’Challa, his Heartmate.

\---

He finally gave into his wishes and traced the words he had seen glow golden so long ago. The words glowed now too, under his fingers. His own responded in kind, humming softly below his skin.


	2. Interlude at Warrior Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a small piece for you guys to read while I finish up the next chapter. Thank you so much for all the support you've given this work. I hope you enjoy!

Shuri was born with a lovely slathering of white words running around the center of her arm.

_“You made that?”_

As soon as she could speak, Shuri had demanded to learn the language carved upon her skin. English came as easy to her as breathing, she wanted nothing more than be able to speak with the person who would be a part of her life in some capacity or another.

Her color slowly snuck into every aspect of her life. She surrounded every place around her in the color of her Heartmate mark. To feel closer to them, was her explanation. Yet, in reality, it made her feel as though they were there with her. Whenever she would feel sad or overwhelmed or alone. Their color was with her everywhere she went.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, though. The colors were not enough.

On somedays, the white seemed like a curse. On those days she wished it to be the unfilled black of a romantic bond. She wished it to turn gold. She wondered if she would be enough.

Would she be pushed aside for a romantic partner?

Would she be in the periphery for all her life?

On those days she asked for Bast to deliver her Heartmate swiftly to her.

Until then, the color would be all around her.

In her bracelets, her hair, her shoes.

Every cut of her dress showcased her platonic mark, she was not ashamed of her Heartmate.

It encompassed the lab where she spent most of her time on any given day.

She imagined the color looking out into Mount Bashenga with her.

Imagined it smiling at her inventions.

Imagined their smile in its place when the loneliness crawled under her skin into her bones.

On days like this, she wished she had their strength standing by her side.

T’Challa had teased her endlessly about her ‘updated’ garment the entire morning as she refused the armlet that would cover up her arms. He also pretended not to notice the introduction of small, stark white beads amongst the traditional colors.

Now, as she watched him face off against the Jabari chief, she found herself wrapping her hand tightly around her mother’s whilst her other found itself around her upper arm. Asking her Heartmate for strength at each hit landed against her brother, at each step the Dora Milaje and the Primes took towards the fighters.

At every breath she inhaled.

Her Heartmate was still on her mind when her brother emerged victorious. She wished dearly to share every moment with them.

The good and the bad.

\---

W’Kabi had a band of gold letters in Xhosa running the length of his cheekbone.

_“Your scimitar against my spear.”_

The words had long turned golden at the hand of Okoye.

His own marks, denoting him the leader of the Border Tribe skirted around Okoye’s marks as if they too were cowed by the imposing woman. T’Challa had laughed for quite sometime at his words.

He clearly remembered the day she had wiped the training mats at the training grounds with his half-dazed corpse. He had been so thoroughly beaten that he did not even notice the golden tinge to he words until the day after.

Ashamed as he may be to admit it, the only reason he had even realized the tinge of it was because the intimidating Dora Milaje was standing in his doorway with an expectant look upon her face.

Some criticized the general on her stoic mannerism. Even towards her Heartmate.

Yet, W’Kabi knew differently.

He saw the small smiles that she gave to her friends.

The way her eyes softened at the words, “My love.”

He often saw it when she watched him train the rhinos. When she snuck them apples when she thought he was not looking. She had denied it when he mentioned it to her, but he simply smiled at the splash of embarrassment in her eyes that she quickly averted from him to stand stoically at the attention of her king.

He saw it here, at the Warrior Falls.

The way her grasp tightened at the shaft of her spear as the Jabari entered the challenge area.

The way her eyes narrowed at the issued challenge and the way she stepped just a hint closer to the edge.

The way her lips parted in a silent gasp at the first blow that connected with T’Challa’s body. At each step those under her command took towards her king.

The way her lips upturned at her king’s victory.

He knew her better then he knew his own heart.

He often wondered if she thought the same for him.

\---

Okoye’s words rested just above her collar bone, on her heart’s side.

_“I yield.”_

They read in golden blocks of Wakandan script.

\---

Ramonda had a circle of red letter on her right palm.

_They had been gold once._

When she had wrapped hers around the hand of a shy young man who had presented her with one of her favorite flower.

When she had held his hand at the ceremony proclaiming him to be the king of all Wakanda.

When she had wrapped it around his arm at their wedding ceremony as she tried to stifle her smile threatening to bloom.

When she tightened it to a death grip around that of the Golden Tribe’s leader as she welcomed her firstborn to her world.

When she nearly broke the Panther king’s hand when her second was born.

Now, however, they were red.

Soon they would blur and eventually be nothing more than a smudge upon her palm.

She still looked at them whenever she had a moment to herself. She wished them to be golden again. She wished them to be golden here and now at falls. She wished her love to see his son become the king. She whished to hold his hand again.

She wanted him here as T’Challa accepted the challenge to him.

She wanted to hold his hand as her child fought.

She wanted her words to be golden again.

_“You have beautiful eyes.”_

She wanted to be next to T’Chaka, her Heartmate, again.

\---

Nakia’s birth brought a time of mourning to the River Tribe.

She did not know why her Baba’s eyes turned sad whenever she asked him about the golden words he and her Umama shared.

He had not given her an answer.

It was not her parents that had told her.

Her Umakhulu was a kind and gentle soul. Her words were red as the crimson of the sunset. She told her that all were born with words that brought them to people that would be dear in their lives. Husbands. Wives. Brothers and sisters. Souls that had be separated long ago and wore the brand that was all their own.

Her Umakhulu told her, she was born without words.

White or black or red.

It was rarer in Wakanda then it was in the world at large simply due to the difference in numbers. But statistics did not make it any less true in her regard.

There was no one out there for her.

Nakia had cried herself to sleep that night.

In there morning, she woke with a resolve.

She would not let what she lacked define her.

She grew up learning not to care nor look at the words that others carried on their bodies. She saw people, not their colors.

No words had allowed her to be a War Dog. Allowed her to step outside of Wakanda’s sheltering canopy and into the burning sands of the world at large. Somedays she would paint words onto herself to better blend in. Others she would wear her lack of words as a mark of pride.

Nakia did not need a crystal ball to know what her mark would be.

The words would be white, in the looping script that T’Challa of Wakanda favored.

_“He ran from me.”_

They would say.

She was the only soul in all the world that knew of her king’s wound. She had found him screaming into the night one evening when she could not sleep. She had wondered off into the gardens around the academy.

The plea she heard was heart wrenching.

Her feet carried her to the sobbing form of the young prince with his eyes trained out into the night as if he was trying to catch sight of a spirit lost in the wind. She had held him as he wept into her neck. She held him until the sun started to peak just above the horizon. She held him for what felt like an eternity.

She knew what her words would be for he spoke nothing else.

_“He ran from me.”_

Again, and again.

A prayer or curse.

She was the only one who knew that the king had met his Heartmate. And the only one who knew that he may never meet him again. She allowed her presence to shield the king’s heart. If all thought he pined after her, they would not force him to seek out the words wrapped around his wrist like a shackle. There was little pressure to find one’s Heartmate if one’s heart already belonged to another.

She never truly minded her own lack of words.

Not until she saw her king face off against the Jabari brute.

She wished for something, anything to mark her support for him. S

She wished for a splash of white around his arm like Shuri’s.

She wished for him to know the only words she spoke the night she held his broken heart.

_“It will be alright.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug of Tumblr account is shameless.
> 
> [x](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all of your kind words and kudos and hell thank you for just reading my terrible writing at all! 
> 
> You guys are amazing and your words help keep me motivated!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Edit:  
> Minor formatting error that was getting on my nerves and making it hard to read. Nothing has been changed in the actual work.

T’Challa gazed at the taller man sprawled out on his throne, filling every inch of the room with his presence.

The look of casual indifference was anything but casual. It looked practiced. The thought brought a small smile to his lips.

“Do you find amusement in your predicament, your – former – highness?”

The smile fell from his lips.

This was M’Baku after all.

T’Challa knew him well.

He knew M’Baku’s eyes.

\---

T’Challa was not having a great day. His day had been considerably bad indeed. It started with being scolded by his martial arts tutor for his improper kata before all the Dora Milaje trainees and assembled Dora Milaje. The day had snowballed downhill from that moment.

He had been on the receiving end of his father’s ire for failure in being able to work through a hypothetical political matter – rather complicated in T’Challa’s humble opinion but he was rarely consulted on such thing. He knew full well that it was a culmination of many things that had little to do with his performance but the harsh words his father had said to him had stung his very core.

His mother had scolded his mannerism at dinner. Citing a lack of tact and decorum in a cutting tone. They had been going through the proper behavior he needed to adopt if he were to accompany his father outside of Wakanda. Shuri, on the other hand, had a different agenda. She felt that her chickpea mush served better as an impromptu hair accessory for T’Challa rather than food.

It all came to a head when T'Chaka left suddenly on a trip to a UN meeting. He had promised T'Challa that they would go together so he could show his son around the beautiful city of Vienna. T'Challa had been looking forward to the trip since he had been told of it two weeks prior.

Then T'Chaka had left. Without reason or rhyme.

His mother had tried to console her troubled son from her holographic form supplied by his _kimoyo_ beads. His father had received intelligence from the stationed War Dogs. The situation had changed. Worsened. It would not be safe for the crown prince to be in the city in any way.

T'Challa had tried to keep it all inside.

Tried to keep his calm.

Tried to keep his face.

But it had all come tumbling down in the form of small droplets collecting in the corner of his eyes.

He had made a truly amazing exit from his dorms, leaving his beads behind. He had ignored his mother's calls after him as he made his way through the halls of the prep academy.

Which had brought him to the grand gardens that seemed so alien in the darkness of the night lit only by the light of the moon. Here he sat trying to hold back his sobs as his shoulders shook with the strength of his gasps.

Hugging his knees close to himself, T'Challa nestled his head upon them.

He ignored the quiet rustling around him as the wind blew through the different shrubbery.

"Aren't you the prince?"

The voice accompanied by a zing of familiarity ran through the haze of sadness that had descended upon him through of the day.

He immediately started wiping the remnants of tears away from his face. He watched in rapt amazements as the words wrapped around his wrist flashed a gentle gold.

He had often wondered about the day that he would meet his Heartmate.

Would they be wandering around the market place and bump into him? Would he be in some place that was forbidden for him and he would run into a guard? Would they be Wakandan and what if they were not? Would they come and live with him or would he have to leave Wakanda forever? Would they love him at first sight? He knew he would, no matter who they were.

He had to admit. Crying his eyes out in the middle of the night in a garden outside of his school was not one of the many scenarios that he had created in his head.

“I did not expect to be so be embarrassing the first time we met.”

He mumbled against the hand he was using to wipe his eyes, despite his wide grin he almost a whole different type of tears gathering.

He looked up at the taller figure of his Heartmate standing before him.

T’Challa was well versed in all the tribes that inhabited Wakanda, even many that didn’t. So, he knew for certain that the boy in front of him did not belong to the four planes tribes. For one, he was dressed in thick furs concealed by a thicker black cloak. The temperature in majority of Wakanda barely got anything beyond moderate or temperate. The Border Tribe wore their blankets but that was part tradition and part protection rather than to protect them from any severe elements.

Sadness of his day forgotten for the mystery his Heartmate presented. T’Challa smiled up to the figure.

Slowly, however, he found his smile dwindling away.

There was no smile of amazement nor was there anything welcoming.

Nothing but a deep frown of confusion and terror filled eyes.

Before T’Challa could even utter another word, the figure turned and bolted away from him.

Time blurred around his being, lights forming where there were none moments ago, his head was splitting.

He felt himself speaking without knowing the words leaning his throat. From his eyes, flowed rivers that threatened to drown his very soul. His throat contracted in on itself as he screamed into the night.

Calling, crying, yelling, begging, pleading – after his Heartmate to come back to him, after Bast to spare him this pain.

T’Challa did not know how long he sat there.

T’Challa did not know how long he kept calling out into the night.

T’Challa did not know how long his tears had rippled out from his eyes.

T’Challa did not know.

\---

Even here. In the cold of Jabari land. Far above the structures of wood and stone, in the fastness, in the presence of the Jabari chief. T’Challa’s throat burned at the memory of the night.

Nakia stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. As she had majority of his life, one way or another.

He spoke to his mother and sister and the American about returning to his land, his Wakanda.

He hoped to face N’Jadaka. To face Erik Killmonger. A monster of his father’s making. It would be remiss to label him as anything other than what his father had wrought.

He turned to the Jabari chief to speak with him further only to end up staring at the eyes of the boy who had left him weeping into the night.

He did not miss the flicker of anger that flashed through those eyes when Nakia wrapped her hand around his wrist covering, shielding, the mark from the rest of the world.

That night something had gone T’Challa’s way.

He met Nakia.

\---

His heart felt like someone had torn it from his chest and left its rotting mass upon the ground. He could feel it dying within him. His vision had whited out long ago. He could not see anything beyond the blur of darkness around him. His ears rang with his own screams and pleas.

Strong arms wrapped around his midriff, pulling him towards another.

He fought against them like a wild animal.

He tried to break from them and chase after his Heartmate.

He wanted to ask why he wasn’t good enough.

He needed to know why he would be left alone in the world.

He struggled and clawed against the arms.

T’Challa could not keep up the fight and soon found his anger waning away to be replaced with a bone deep sadness. He sat against the person holding him. Eyes long dried of any tears he may have left.

“He ran from me.”

The mantra left his lips like a prayer to Bast. A keening sound, that of a wounded animal, following in its stead.

They sat there long. Long into the night, long hours passing around them.

It was at dusk that he found himself dragged to his feet and into the prep academy’s dorms. He would have never stepped foot into the dorm of someone he did not know but tonight he found he was not himself.

He found himself drinking a glass of water, cold against his parched throat.

He found himself changing into a loose dress robe.

He found himself lying on a soft bed wrapped up in the same strong arms.

He found himself falling into a fitful sleep lulled by whispering words.

“It will be alright.”

\---

M’Baku refused to help the Wakandan king.

In a way, T’Challa could not blame his actions. He was acting in the best interest of the Jabari but T’Challa still asked for he was acting in the best interest of all Wakanda. Vibranium was a strong tool in the hand of those that saw it to be sacred, it could also be a dangerous weapon in the hands of those that did not.

Nakia fielded any verbal attacks from the Jabari leader, much like she had done for most of T’Challa’s life.

T’Challa wondered if she and M’Baku would come to blows here and now.

M’Baku glowered down at the two before waving them away.

The Jabari would not go into battle today.

He thanked the Great Gorilla, none-the-less, for his hospitality. Not only towards himself but for allowing his mother and sister safety and for his mother’s continued refuge.

This time it was T’Challa who walked away.

\---

It was an act of rebellion.

One of the few that T’Challa had allowed himself throughout his life.

Few knew about it at all.

Zuri had frowned at him as he applied the ceremonial paint over T’Challa’s body. Though he did not ask him about it. T’Challa could see the questions burning inside the priest, threatening to come to the surface. Yet, he would not have been a true War Dog if he did not know how to hold back his curiosities.

Artificial mark tattoos of any kind were not considered honorable.

Many believed it to be ultimate form of disrespect towards one’s Heartmate. To add words that had not been there to one’s body.

And here was the crown prince, soon to be the king, with words that did not belong to his Heartmate curving around his shoulder like the slender hand that often sat there when providing him with strength.

Those words had carried him through the worst of his days. They had been there when he held his father to him. They had been there when he tracked down Zemo. They had been the ones to tell him to tell him to seek justice, not revenge.

In a way, Sargent Barnes owed his life to them. They had helped him find clarity in the world around him and see the truth of the matter. He had allowed the former Winter Soldier to find refuge in his home country and to heal the man’s wounded mind.

And they were here. Now. With him.

As he faced his Heartmate in ritual combat.

T’Challa’s mind was adrift.

He fought.

Blow for blow.

Matched equally to his Heartmate.

Yet, his mind wondered away from him.

Would he wear the color of blood when this challenge came to any end?

Would he never know the love he had envisioned in his younger years?

Would he be able to kill his Heartmate?

M’Baku yielded.

T’Challa crowed with relief.

His eyes met Nakia’s and saw the matching relief.

On matching shoulders, in matching white.

Their act of rebellion tied them to each other.

“He ran from me.”

“It will be alright.”

\---

Donning his Black Panther garb, T’Challa stepped out to the Talon and took to battle against his own blood. He did not know whether he would return. Nor did he know if his Heartmate would take him back.

That was a battle for another day.

Right here, right now. He had to face one battle.

The battle of love could wait its own turn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug of Tumblr account is still shameless.
> 
> [X](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me!!


	4. Interlude from the Battle Field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had a lot of issues with this chapter. Especially trying to figure out what part I would cut off, should I put multiple character's stories in this one chapter vs. only one character. For now, this chapter only have one character present. I will either take down this chapter of edit it by the end of the day. 
> 
> If you want to read the unedited version of this chapter and find out exactly how bad it initially was at my Tumblr. Link at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Edit: 
> 
> I think I'm finally happy with this chapter. I changed a few things to clear up some confusion as well as check off any annoyances I had with this. If you've already read through it, do give it a second read to make sure you didn't miss anything and let me know if anything is still confusing with it. 
> 
> Now that my weird obsession with this chapter is out of the way, part two will be going up tonight and we should be back to our regularly scheduled programing. I'm actually REALLY excited to write the next chapter!
> 
> Edit - redux: 
> 
> So I was going through this fanfic and I didn't really like how I split this up into two chapters. So now I have combined the two part Interlude at the Battlefield in to one chapter. 
> 
> Sorry for the confusion!

N’Jadaka could remember the first time he read the words carved into a tiny circle over his heart. His Baba had been teaching him how to read in their small two-room apartment for as long as he could remember. His Baba had laughed a hearty and happy laugh when N’Jadaka had read the words out loud. He had asked his Baba to read the words for him but his Baba had used it as an incentive to teach himself. This lead to N’Jadaka spending all hours of day and night learning his letters and reviewing the old books the next door neighbor, Aunt Suth, would give him. Most of the books were in a language of swooping letter and looping words.

“It is Arabic, child, I will teach you one day,” the quiet Middle Eastern woman said as she sat knitting in her favorite chair while he read through a tattered book.

His Baba didn’t teach him mark colors. His Baba didn’t like talking about marks. N’Jadaka knew that his Baba and uncle James shared a white mark. He couldn’t read the language his Baba’s mark was in. It was the same language the old book that his Baba would read him fairytales from was in. On his first day in elementary school, a bunch of kids convinced the home room teacher to talk about the Heartmate marks. She told them about the white marks and the black marks and the gold marks, like the one she had on her own pinkie finger. N’Jadaka had waved his hand in the air excitedly until the smiling teacher called on him.

“What about red marks?”

The teacher had been evasive. She didn’t look him in the eye.

For the first time in his short life, he wished he could remove the blood red words from his chest. Wipe away any trace of them from his being, from his very soul.

He couldn’t remember what color preceded the red.

Black or white?

Would it have turned gold?

Would it have stayed white?

His uncle James and Baba shared the color white.

Phrases written in blocky Wakandan text.

It no longer mattered.

His color would be red.

His phrase unsaid.

His Heartmate lost to the ebbing sands of ever flowing time.

No one, not even he, would know their smile, their touch, their laugh.

He didn’t even know their name.

His father had held him close the entire night. He asked his Baba to regale him with stories the country they both belonged to. Hidden deep in Africa’s heart. Stories of its sunsets and wide open planes. A place where no child would grow up with their Heartmate mark bleeding upon their soul. A place of fairytales and happy endings.

The fairytales stopped one day.

He and his friends, the few he had left, were playing basketball in a small court. A clearing in a concrete jungle when he saw the lights in the sky. His heart felt cold, just for a moment. His hand found its way to it as he raced up to the sixth floor to the apartment he and his Baba shared. His Baba lay in a pool of his own blood. Gasping and trembling. He held him close to his heart, close to his mark. For the second time, in his short life, N’Jadaka wept open and long. Auntie Suth found him the next day when she came over to make him breakfast. Still hunched over his Baba, tears and blood streaking his young face.

His auntie had tried to keep him, her own family had left for greener pastures long ago and her mark matched his in all its blood red glory. He wasn’t her family though so he was taken from her and thrown in an endless cycle.

Foster home after foster home.

Families incapable and unequipped to deal with his level of trouble.

Anger bubbling under a calm façade.

Storm in a teacup.

He woke up one day to find the words, that had stared back at him in the mirror, turning fuzzy at the edges. N’Jadaka was on a quiet, dusty homestead in Southern California which served as a foster home to numerous ‘troubled youths’. A jar of peanut butter and some rice crispies had gotten him the answer from one of the other foster children that came through the figurative revolving door. Heartmate marks can blur. Once his Heartmate had died, it would take a few years before all traces of it would go away.

That was not the only lesson of that N’Jadaka learned about his mark as he slashed the blade of a pocket knife, one of his favorite foster parents had given him, over his heart. Burying the words in a tidal wave of blood and a torrent of tears.

It was for naught. The words were still there the next day, one of the letters slowly losing its definition.

For the third time in his life, N’Jadaka wept. He wept for what could have been, for the fairytale that had been taken from him before he even had a chance to glimpse its truth. It felt like his eyes had no tears left when the night ended. He woke the next day and stared long and hard into the mirror. He wanted to remember those words forever. He read the words again and again. All day. He did not move from the mirror. He wanted to carve those words in his memory as they were carved on his heart.

That night, before the mirror, N’Jadaka was no more.

That night, before the mirror, Erik Stevens was formed.

It was Erik that dragged himself all the way from California to the East Coast.

At the age of twenty-three, Erik Stevens became the first person to successfully have the Heartmate mark removed from his body. The mark was an odd phenomenon. From what Erik was told, by the numerous doctors he had been paraded in front of as part of the project, the marks could not be removed.

Burns, scars, skin grafts.

All failed to hide the mark.

Like a stain, one of the scientist, a boisterous woman hidden behind a permanent clinical mask, had proclaimed. It bled through anything that came in its way.

A permanent mark.

Erik could not, did not, remember what exactly had been done to remove the mark. There was no debrief of any kind. He, a military grunt with an unknown pedigree, hardly needed to know the specifics of his situation.

He had a blood colored mark.

“One can hardly waste a golden mark, filled or not, or even a white one over such a procedure.” Another masked scientist, clipboard in hand muttered at him.

He had a blurred, blood colored mark.

He wanted it gone.

That was all that mattered to men and women milling around the multilayered basement. All he knew of the procedure was bone deep, excruciating pain. He felt like his soul was being torn asunder. Ripped and shredded. He was certain he had died. More than once. Again, and again. He woke up in a stark white room. Surrounded by masked faces. Higher up, in the observation room, suits and ties stood with bated breath. When one of the scientist finally read his vitals out loud to the room. Above, suits shook hands with suits, ties were straightened and champagne shared. Below, Erik – N’Jadaka – Erik stared down at his heart. For the first time in his life. Nothing stared back at him. No words, no color, nothing but smooth skin.

Erik Stevens had no Heartmate.

Erik Stevens became Killmonger.

It was so easy to find Klaue.

The man had a soundcloud account.

Blending into his group was even easier.

A simple, unknowledgeable grunt who followed orders. The same form that had led him to the white room.

Killing him and dragging his corpse to the soil of Wakanda was even easier.

The sight of the city, of Birin Zana brought him to thoughts of red and his vision bloodied.

Somewhere in city, in this country stood the man whose cheek a white phrase that turned blood colored when his Baba’s breath left his lips. Somewhere in this place stood his uncle ‘James’. His father’s Heartmate.

N’Jadaka son of N’Jobu; Erik Stevens; Murderer; Monster; Killmonger; Usurper; took the throne to the country, the fairytale, his father had told him of. A place where no child would be cursed with the color of blood. A place where no man would leave his son behind to fend alone against the horrors of mankind. A place where no man would carve out his heart to rid himself of a color.

Here, now, from atop his throne.

N’Jadaka son of N’Jobu would make the whole world such a place.

N’Jadaka son of N’Jobu was born with a phrase encircling his heart.

_“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”_

\---

Shuri hands shook as she slipped her hands into the gauntlets. She had trained with one of the greatest generals the Dora Milaje had hosted. Nakia, too, took up herself to teach her every form of martial art she came across. Her weapon’s tech was beyond compare to anyone else in Wakanda and lightyears beyond what anyone else in the world could dream up.

All of these facts did not stop her hands from shaking in her gauntlets as she stepped out onto the grounds surrounding Mount Bashenga. Ross was rambling about something or other in her ear as she tried to give him instructions on how to operate the hologram controls for the Talon.

For a moment, only a moment, she wondered if she should have made the suit or gauntlets or accessories or something, anything, the pure white of her Heartmate mark. Maybe then, just like they had every time she would present a new idea before the Wakandan Technology Collective or a project at the Polytechnic Prep, they would stop shaking. She really should’ve done something with the color.

She supposed her war paint would have to do.

The pulse gauntlets were just a prototype for the Black Panther. Shuri never really meant to try them out in a real battle. Then again, she didn’t exactly expect to be facing off against her cousin from an uncle she could barely remember as well.

Life had a way of surprising her as of late.

Her mind was running through a million calculations every moment.

The best area for damage. The correct position of her feet. The height of the tunnel behind her. The projectile trajectory of Ross’ sonic waves. The length of time the glass surrounding her lab could withstand the attack from the Talon hovering in the mountain. The amount of time she could hold Killmonger off.

Everything was there inside her head, inside her mind.

Yet, in the forefront of it all, she was calm in her rage.

The paint dotting her face felt like the rays of a smile she longed to know for herself.

For a moment, just one passing moment, she wondered if she would never learn of it.

The second she slips backwards, nearly tumbling into the waiting maw of the mountain behind her. The thought comes to the forefront of her mind in that passing moment.

Will her Heartmate know the same rage that Erik embodies? Or would they slip into the deep caverns of the world and hide amongst the throngs, never knowing who they were destined to meet? Will she never know their warmth next to her?

The image of her Heartmate by her side marveling at yet another gadget she has coaxed out of the vibranium, pulses the blood in her veins. Their smile of awe and wonder as they stroll through the winding streets of Birin Zana, forces her to her feet. The thought of telling them all of the stories of past Panthers and their great exploits that her people have been collecting forever, powers her will as she pushes Killmonger back.

She will not be so easily broken.

She had waited a lifetime to see her Heartmate.

She will not fall at the hands of a man broken by the world at large.

She had painted her life the white of her mark.

She will not color it red.

Shuri joined the battle at full speed, pushing Killmonger farther from her stance before T’Challa took over the skirmish. She made her way down to the ruined lab and got to work following her brother’s commands as Evertte sat in the chair with winded breath as though he had ran across the whole of the planes of Wakanda at full speed.

\---

The words had been a promise of strength for Okoye. She had imagined herself to be a warrior powerful enough to bring someone to yield for her. Though her sister had tittered over how weak her Heartmate must have been to yield to her, Okoye knew better.

There was no wrong in yielding.

Whilst other thought the act to be disgraceful or shameful, Okoye knew better. She was strong, stronger than many of her own age group. She was focused, determined and head strong.

Her mother had often recalled of the first time she and her sister had gotten into a fight. Despite being two years younger, Okoye was the victor.

“You never stopped fighting since,” her mother said with a soft smile while her Umama was braiding her hair.

Her mother had been a gentle soul. Calm and nurturing and sweet as a mango. Her Umama on the other hand was fierce as a lioness. Forceful and proud and strong as a bull rhino.

Blood or no blood, Umama was the one Okoye reflected in her everyday behavior, something that both amused and frustrated her mother to no end.

When she finally met the scrawny but boisterous young man that was her Heartmate, her mother’s amusement was endless. Her Umama has looked the young Border tribesman over with the scrutiny of a hawk examining the mouse it will eat for its next meal. A mere nod had been the only acceptance W’kabi received from her Umama, which had been monumental on its own.

She wandered what the fierce woman would say when she saw the two of them face off against each other. A scowl deep enough to cut flesh was the likely answer.

Okoye could not imagine wearing a red mark for the rest of her life. She could not imagine a life without the gentle barbs and wide smiles that W’kabi offered her every single day.

Yet, she did not belong to her love alone.

Dora Milaje defined her life. It was part of her very being. She belonged to Wakanda and the Black Panther was her sovereign.

She had allowed the usurper to take the throne. She had not gone with Nakia when her friend begged her. She had not spoken out against the man sitting atop the throne when he proclaimed to want the world. She had taken the Dora Milaje to Mount Bashenga with her.

Her loyalty belonged to the king and it belonged to T’Challa upon his return.

Okoye took to battle with the Border tribe without hesitation. She knew full well who led the charge. She knew who she would face against in the field before her. It did nothing to dissuade her.

“You would fight me, as well, my love?” The hesitation in his eyes lasted for only a moment upon her answer.

“For Wakanda, any day.”

W’kabi joked long ago that his rhino was sweet on Okoye. He also pretended not to know that she was sneaking the thundering animal small pieces of oranges whenever she got the chance.

It would seem he was right.

“I yield.”

The words Okoye wore never seemed like the words of weakness. She had spent her entire life defending them. In them, she saw the strength of knowing when enough was enough. Of knowing when the battle, no matter how hard fought, was over and need not go on longer.

Here upon the field as wounded men and women lay, all Wakandan no matter their side, the words held the same strength to her.

The battle, no matter how hard fought, was over.

\---

Nakia never thought the lack of having a Heartmate mark made her any less. While some thought of it as a curse put upon the River tribe, she felt elsewise.

In a sense, it was freedom.

Freedom to love and care for whomever came into her life equally. There was no ultimatum for her to be with someone who would speak a phrase carved into her soul and body.

Many thought that marrying those that you were not marked for was a grievous crime. Persecution of couples that married despite not having gold marks was common in many places outside of Wakanda. While her people were often more understanding, some still thought of it as the ultimate disrespect to Bast.

Others believed that those who shared white marks should never marry for they were meant to simply experience each other from a far. That was something she could never truly understand. How could they expect those who waited their entire life to meet one another to never share a closer love was beyond her. She had helped many women escape persecution from their communities for having relations with those they shared a white mark with.

The only time she had ever wished herself to have a Heartmate mark was when she was around T’Challa. The prince turned king had become a fixture in her life after their shaky first meeting. Sometimes when they sat shoulder to shoulder, taking in the beautiful sight of the sunset painted across the Wakandan sky, she would wrap her hand around the wrist that held his mark. It was a marvel that such silly words brought so much pain to the man’s eyes. He never looked at them anymore. Hiding them behind _kimoyo_ beads or cuffs. They had seemingly been pushed to the back of his mind.

She knew better. She was a master spy, trained by the best War Dogs that Wakanda employed. It did not take her long to coerce what T’Challa knew of his Heartmate out of him.

She was the only soul that knew his Heartmate to be Jabari.

She was the only soul that knew of who that Jabari was.

They had made it a habit of sleeping in the same bed when they were younger. There was nothing sexual behind it, no matter what the tittering gossip of the academy and then the palace had claimed. As they lay, slowly slipping into a calm sleep, she would see him run his hands over the words.

Again, and again.

She would see them bring tears to the corner of his eyes that were resolutely wiped away. She would wrap her arms around him as he fell into a fitful sleep once more.

It was those night that led them to sneak out of the palace. Led them to track down one the few tattoo artists in Birin Zana. Led them to mark themselves with something far more taboo than marrying someone who did not share your golden mark or marrying one that shared your white one.

Her hand had clasped her our shoulder when she saw the man she held so dear disappear over the edge of Warrior Falls. It was his mark that gave her the strength to steal the heart shapped herb from under the newly crowned king’s nose. With its guidance, she led the Queen mother and the young princess to Jabari land and offered the strength of the Black Panther to her king’s Heartmate.

For a sickening moment, she wondered if the man, behind his aloof mask, wept for her king as she did. For another moment, she wondered if his mark turning bloody red had left a mark on his armor at all.

Her heart sang as she watched life return to T’Challa’s snow touched skin. She chided herself on the thoughts towards the Jabari chief, who could watch their Heartmate broken and bloodied and feel nothing.

She watched the chief for a moment longer before nodding to him as she and T’Challa departed from his lands.

Her mark was a duller white. Someone who had intimate knowledge of marks or had a white one could tell hers apart if they looked close enough. Many did not survive such an inspection. She protected the mark with her life. As she would her king.

Accepting the uniform of the Dora Milaje, for one battle or none, was far harder than she would let herself imagine. She knew it was simply armor. Worn for the moment so she could join T’Challa in battle. But it was so much more. It was the lifetime of commitment she had for the king. It was her promise to keep him safe.

It was all of it personified.

It was not the largest battle that Wakanda had faced and in her heart she knew there was a much bigger fight ahead. Wakandan were head strong and often hard headed as well.

The arrival of the Jabari was not unexpected to her as it was to other.

Chief M’Baku was tied to T’Challa, eternally. Much like she had tied herself to him. In his eyes, she had seen the battle plan forming as T’Challa had made to leave the mountain. She did not say anything as they made to the battlefield but she knew in her heart of hearts, the Jabari would come for his Heartmate.

It was all over soon after but T’Challa was still in battle.

Nakia joined Shuri in her lab and busied herself in contacting the War Dogs, telling them to stand down. She pointedly ignored M’Baku as he followed her down and ignore his looming presence as he watched T’Challa fight on the mag rail. She let him worry and stew just a moment longer.

\---

If he listened close enough, N’Jadaka could hear a hum. All around. Everywhere. It seeped into the ground, where it made the soil fertile. Sprouting flowers in colors he could not even name. It seeped into the people around him. Into their freedom and language and knowledge and power. It seeped into everything around him. Culture and history and technology and weapons.

It was the same hum in his Baba’s voice when he told him stories of home.

It bellowed up from the ground all around him.

It made him want to scream.

To make it all cease.

He hated it.

All of it.

The color and culture.

The language and laughter.

The smiling faces all around him, oblivious to the suffering in his heart, oblivious to the screams in his head.

He hated it.

He hated the land that had forsaken his father, forsaken him. He hated the white on his baby cousin’s arm. He hated the black on the wrist of the would-be king of this land. He hated the red uncle James – Zuri – had the audacity to wield. He wanted to make it all bleed red.

The carefully crafted toy soldier would disrupt the tides of time and will of the world.

He would make sure not one child would grow up knowing nothing but a red mark upon their very being.

But first he would make it all bleed red.

The hum grew to a crescendo, down here in the cavern. A deafening beat of a heart was amongst the stone the Wakandan’s held so dear to them.

Every blow that landed on his body did little to drown out the hum. He was there. Fighting against the – former – king but he wasn’t. The blood rushing through his veins hummed with the stone. His heart beat with its rhythm.

He felt no pain.

He was nothing.

Only the hum buried deep with the stone, buried deep within his own bones.

He was adrift on the hum all around and within. He tried not to let himself get lost amongst it. He had a battle to fight after all. He felt the hum still. It crawled along his skin, in the suit that his baby cousin had woven for her brother. It surrounded his very being. He felt it hum away against the skin over his heart.

He felt it against the skin which once held his Heartmate’s words. The blood red mark he had willed away.

The battle was over soon after it started. Too soon. He felt the hum within his chest where the blade was embedded.

His cousin dragged him out to the sunset.

“I didn’t even get to see what their smile looked like.”

“I am sorry.”

“What’s the point in that? Didn’t see their color, neither, died before I could.”

“I…”

“Yea, you’re sorry.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way. You can still heal.”

He cannot. He knows that. He was beyond healing when he tore his own soul apart because a mark weighed heavily on his soul. He shed what he thought to be bondage then. He will do the same now.

“I got rid of my mark ‘cause they used it just another type of bondage. I ain’t going to let you throw me in some little prison to do the same. Death will always be better than bondage. Bury me in the ocean with my ancestors who jumped from ships, cause they knew death was better than bondage

He watches the sun set as he feels his breath leaving with only a hum left in its place. His last thoughts are of the words he used to read to himself as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Killmonger's character, I wanted to reflect the same level of loss in my world as he experienced in cannon. For that reason I chose to have his Heartmate die at a young age. He would never get the chance to know them as I imagined many children that would be born, or have their Heartmates be born, in areas with high crime rates wouldn't. He never knew them so neither will we. 
> 
> Zuri's Heartmate was Prince N'Jobu.
> 
> Shameless plug of Tumblr account is still shameless, even fours chapter in.
> 
> [X](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me!!


	5. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a whirlwind of a week I return with an updated chapter. This time with M'Baku's POV. 
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU FOR 2500 hits! OMG! I think I died a little when I saw that number! You guys are amazing. Thank you for your lovely comments and kudos and bookmarks! Just thank you so, so much. 
> 
> Thank you also for being patient with this chapter. I've tried my best to fix any mistakes but if you see an grammar issues, let me know.

M’Baku was less than amused.

He had expected the Jabari and himself to return to the isolation of the mountain once the sordid affair with – former – King N’Jadaka was over and done with. How he had found himself in the tribal council with the different tribal leaders and elders bickering amongst themselves whilst his Heartmate sat stoically in his throne was a question he was still pondering. The battle was over, the rightful king was back in his throne and order was returned to the lands of Wakanda. He had been expecting cheers all around.

Not the diplomatic version of a dressing down that the River Tribe’s elder was dolling out to the leader of the Border Tribe. For his benefit, the – slightly – younger Border tribeswoman was listening with great dignity.

M’Baku more than understood that the entire affair did not bring any favor to the Border Tribe. Their shieldarms had actively defied their leaders and fallen in step with their captain. W’kabi’s punishment had still not been decided. The battle in the field may have been over but its rippling effects would travel through every tribe. Stirring changes and dissent. The ripples would travel through every single War Dog, many of whom were being recalled to Wakanda whilst other were still unaccounted for.

It was all a sordid affair in M’Baku’s eyes.

He could see the lines of strain and worry etched into his Heartmate’s eyes. He could see their reflection in the general of Dora Milaje and the young princess. The Queen mother was absent from the council. She had tasked herself with preparations of Zuri’s funeral as well as seeing to a proper burial for the lost prince.

His own Primes, injured from the battle, were being watched over by the young princess.

Saving his Heartmate had not been a last-minute decision. He had agreed to join him upon the battlefield before the question even left the Black Panther’s lips. He had left his Heartmate that night, long ago. He would not leave him again. Whether he told his Heartmate that, that was another question all together.

His ears perked as he heard the smooth tenor of the Panther’s voice.

“We cannot fault one another for something that we all have fault in. Wakanda failed N’Jadaka. A prince of our land was forced to live his life outside of our borders, forced to fend for his life as a child in such a cruel world.”

Pretty words were his Heartmate’s specialty it would seem. Even if they were spoken in a reproachful tone.

“Prince N’Jadaka was a product of centuries. Centuries of turning a blind eye to the world around us. Centuries of allowing suffering and pain to occur right outside our borders. Centuries. He was right, however wrong his actions were, he was right. Wakanda cannot allow the suffering that many around this world experience without doing anything. His solution was war.”

The gentle words were those of a man crafted to be king all his life. A man who had power to fulfill his words.

“And what would you have us do, King T’Challa?” The honorific was an amalgamation of threat and disdain coming from the elder Border tribesman, “Open up the borders? Cripple the shieldarm? Do away with centuries of tradition in order to bow to the whim of anyone that would walk through the door?”

M’Baku gave the elderly woman a point. She did know how to hit the mark with deadly accuracy.

“We will not be opening our borders. I do not believe Wakanda nor the world is ready for that. My solution is outreach. Wakanda will help nurture the minds of the world. Build up the communities that have been left to fester in the lowest dregs for so long. Give those that have no option but the follow the long tread path a way to better themselves and better their communities.”

He also had to give his Heartmate a point. His own words did not hold back in their approach.

“The River Tribe seconds this decision. Too long have we allowed ourselves to be locked away. Too long have we turned a cold blind eye to the suffering of others.”

It wasn’t unknown how close the River and Golden Tribes had become. Due partially to the strong bond shared by Nakia and his own Heartmate. Their support was none-the-less surprising as they often favored the quiet route.

“The Jabari third this decision.”

M’Baku did not know if his vote would mean anything to the other tribes. The full reintegration of the Jabari people was still something that had not been fully discussed nor what their role in the greater scheme of Wakanda. He was completely unware if he had any power to dissuade the decision of the council at all. It was all a bit in the air. He ignored the looks thrown his way at his statement. He would stand by his claim.

And did he ever regret standing by it.

Somewhere on the wind, if he listened closely, M’Baku could hear his Umama laughing her hearty laugh. The same laugh that he would hear when he would climb onto her throne and huddle into her furs, proclaiming himself to be the Great Gorilla. She was definitely laughing at him right now as he offered a passable smile to another UN official being followed by a flock of volunteers. How he ended up agreeing to accompanying his Heartmate on his whirlwind of a trip was beyond him.

He was not a soft man, not in the least. He was embodiment of the very god his people worshipped, Hanuman. His very being radiated power and strength and yet here he was making small talk, or standing in brooding silence, in the lobby of the UN building in Vienna just before the Black Panther went on to speak with the rest of the world.

Personally, M’Baku blamed the eyes.

T’Challa had requested him to stay after the tribal council. A polite request or a veiled command. He had obliged, rather begrudgingly, and stayed seated as the rest of the tribal leaders and elders made their way out of the throne room. The king also bid the Dora Milaje their leave.

“I wish to speak to you about the outreach campaign.”

The voice was soft and the eyes softer.

M’Baku blamed his current situation on those eyes. It would seem that the Great Gorilla had met his match in them. After seeing them only three times, he would not miss out on their glow for another moment. He wanted nothing more to see them fill with joy and wonder. See them open wide with awe and crinkle in with happiness.

But how do you speak to your Heartmate? One you left with tears and grief so long ago.

When he told his mother he had run away from his Heartmate, she had given him a strong slap up the head. In a calm voice that belayed her worry and exhaustion, she inquired his reasoning. She had laughed upon hearing his daring break from the Primes and his journey in to the city of the Golden Tribe. However, her amusement had dwindled away when he told her who his Heartmate was and how he had left the younger boy there, alone. Whatever he had been expecting, the lecture that followed was not it. She had given him a talking to that still made his ears ring on occasion. Her worry for her child and his Heartmate’s well-being was evident. She advised him to follow what connected them and try to make piece within as without. Instead of heeding her words, he had asked her to not mention it to the tribal elders. So, certain was he of the Golden princes’ rejection.

Yet, here he was. Following the man around the world like a love-sick pup.

The air in the city was stifling. While he had been assured by the Black Panther and the princess alike that there were places with worse air quality, he found it hard to believe. It tasted of soot and slight decay. As if everything around them was dying and suffocating. They had used the Talon to arrive as close as possible to the UN building before switching to a car for the rest of the journey.

And now he stood. He imagined he could give the statues littering the building a run for their money if he stood here long enough.

M’Baku was being talked to, or talked at, by a young woman that had talons long enough to make a hawk turn green with envy. He had to, begrudgingly, respect her forwardness that was not deterred by the two Primes and Dora Milaje that were standing nearby with unflinching glowers on their faces. Both parties of guards were dressed in the common suit and tie get up, the only difference between the two being the fur that lined the shoulders of the Primes and the heavy gold jewelry on the Dora Milaje.

T’Challa and Nakia were going back and forth between delegates between several countries. He was sure they were pulling a serious set of the diplomatic gymnastics the king was so fond off. His eyes honed in on the hand that one of the delegates from a western country, a short man with a complexion so pale that he seemed like a ghost, was waving dismissively at the Panther king. M’Baku could almost see the murderous discontent in the eyes of Dora Milaje general as she stood only a few feet away. Almost. His own eyes seemed to haze over with the color of blood as he spotted the slight tensing of slender shoulders under the weight of disapproving comments spewing forth from the shorter man’s mouth.

The king was far too lenient on these fools.

M’Baku would simply have to step in.

He felt the Black Panther start ever so slightly under his hand. M’Baku would gather his victories where ever they might happen. An arm found its way around the slighter man’s waist as M’Baku used his taller frame to glare down at the portly man, a hog in a suit.

The man huffed at T’Challa, bulldozing over any words that may have left his lips.

“Such a thing should not be allowed. You must open your borders for a delegation so we may further our diplomatic relations.” The portly man huffed.

T’Challa may have had his temperament under strict control but his companion’s control seemed to be slipping away at each word that left the mustachioed walrus masquerading as a human.

Just as Nakia opened her mouth to rip the short man a new one in the most diplomatic was possible, M’Baku joined the conversation.

“Our people are new to the influences of the outside world. Your delegates would not be welcomed. It is you who must understand that,” the Great Gorilla could speak honeyed words, who knew. “Instead you to should focus your efforts on working with the outreach centers. Allowing them to function and providing them with your own scientists to further the development of impoverished communities.”

“Chief M’Baku is correct. Wakanda is not yet ready to host a delegation from the UN nor anyone else is the world. Any help with the outreach centers would be most welcome, however. They are a light for those who have nothing to look forward to.”

M’Baku did not miss the appreciative glance his Heartmate threw his way not the smile that stretched out over the lip of their companion. Nakia excused the three of them and slowly ushered the group away from any lingering political figures trying to dig their claws into the king.

“I would have to be careful, Chief M’Baku, otherwise you will have me beat on the political stage.”

“Do not fret, little king, you were not losing ground,” he chuckled slightly at the surprised huff of laughter that escaped T’Challa.

“’Little king’?” He turned to face him. “I am not so much smaller than yourself.”

“Ah, but you are smaller still. If not littler king, would you prefer to be called ikatana?”

Nakia was truly a master of her emotions it would seem as she was the one to hold her laughter back with greatest ease. General Okoye, on the other hand, had turned her face away from the king in order to reel in herself before turning back. The Primes and remaining Dora Milaje had also done everything in their power to keep themselves from chuckling softly.

T’Challa scowled slightly as he turned to his general, “Are you finished?”

M’Baku grinned at the scene before him.

He had brought tears to those eyes that were attempting to glare at the general. Once he had filled them with such sorrow. Despite his claims to his Umama, he had wanted so much to return to the young prince that night. To beg forgiveness for his transgression and stay with him. He had imagined these moments when he sat alone in his room, holding his hand to the words carved into his flesh.

Those eyes would never fill with tears again, M’Baku swore this to Hanuman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ikatana - Kitten (idea was swiped from chancethereaper's M'Baku/T'Challa + size difference post. 
> 
> Shameless plug of Tumblr account is still shameless, even six chapters in.
> 
> [x](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me!


	6. Interlude with Shuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long to update! This chapter was like pulling teeth, honestly.   
> I thank you so much for your lovely comments and kudos and for simply taking the time out of your busy day to read this. 
> 
> As always, I tried my best to correct any grammatical errors but if you see any glaring ones please let me know. 
> 
> Enjoy!

If looks could kill, T’Challa would be a stuck hog. Roasting and turning over an open flame. Shuri was sure that his face would burst into flames any moment now. Or maybe just his hair, if she stared hard enough.

She had ventured out into the world for the first time in her life and instead of doing something fun, she had to coral a gaggle of scientist who were poking at every device in her lab and declaring it impossible. She knew exactly what was and was not possible and many things that were not possible became possible when enough vibranium and centuries of knowledge was thrown at it. These were the same people who had to rediscover how to plant crops when they colonized this land and had to learn crop rotation, again, when they found land they thought to be infinitely fertile. Who were they to tell her it was impossible for her to have assisted the former CIA, and current lab hand-about but she was certain that was on request from her brother and that was another reason why said brother’s hair or face should be on fire, injuries so quickly. If she actually broke down the mechanics behind sonic assisted bone reconstruction, she would have to spend her entire life explaining. That was why she chalked it up to technology that only Wakanda had access to and walked away. One of her more patient assistants would handle the explanation or misdirection.

She had a brother to find.

Perhaps she could give the Jabari Chief, that seemed to enjoy hanging around said brother, a rather embarrassing set of videos.

Decisions, decisions.

Shuri had found herself on the fourth floor of the newly constructed building. The style and architecture made her miss home every time she walked through the halls and it had only been two weeks.

She had insisted on designing the building herself. She would be the representative to the science community after all. Everyone involved had been Wakandan. The construction company, the excavation crew, every builder, technician, down the to the cleaning crew and garners. All Wakandan. Whilst she found the paranoia a bit unfounded, T’Challa insisted on preventing any form of sabotage possible.

Her office, and personal lab combo, was across the hall from her brother’s. The only two spaces occupying the fourth floor. With a slight huff, she let herself fall into a plush white chair. Absentmindedly she scrolled through the many projects that she had queued up and started to tweak some of the minor details. Keeping her mental muscles active, even in repose, was one of the most important lessons her Umama had imparted on her.

Days like today made her want to be back in Wakanda already. Though she was fully capable of returning at any time she wished, there was something inside of her that told her to wait. It made her hesitate in those moments between calling her personal airship to her and being back in the bosom of her homeland. In those moments, she felt as if she knew something was coming towards her. That something only asked for her patience in return. A quiet whisper calmed her heart and made the white of the room seem that much brighter. She had brought her Heartmate’s color here with her.

Shuri’s ears perked as she saw her brother’s Talon land on the balcony of his office. T’Challa had not told her of visiting today.

To her surprise the man that followed her brother was not the usual figure of the imposing Jabari but a slightly worn-out looking Tony Stark. The man was… odd. Beyond just the tired eyes and even more tired walk.

He was not her biggest concern though. Her brother had warned her that he would bring Stark to see the labs and the outreach center sometime in the week. An already stressful day seemed like the perfect time for him to drop by.

Stark had been very helpful in introducing her to many of the current leaders in different fields and he also gave her quite a lot to think about with his different charitable organizations. In fact, many of the younger scientists and engineers milling around the floors below her were graduates funded by the Maria Stark Foundation. While they were still leaps and bounds behind the different project assistants that had followed her from Wakanda, they were more flexible in their understanding than the older generation.

There was another figure behind Stark. Someone peering at everything around him in such wander than made Shuri want to shield them from all things. Shield them from the bad of the world. Hide them away from the horrors. Cover them from the evils. The child like awe and excitement was a welcomed change from the usual scowls that etched themselves on those that were told of vibranium’s capabilities.

Something stirred in her chest. A longing. A calm. A knowing. A peace. A stirring.

“Welcome to the first Wakandan Outreach Center, Mr. Stark. As you already know my sister, Princess Shuri is responsible for the scientific portion of the outreach. This is her domain if you will. Shuri, you know Mr. Stark already and this,” he pointed to figure standing behind the surly man who looked like he had been dragged away from a combination of whiskey, bed and hangover. The being that makes something familiar stir in her heart. “And this is young Peter Parker. He is Stark’s protégé, I believe.” Her brother turns to the man beside him for confirmation. In the periphery of her hearing, Shuri can make out the buzz of a conversation. The moments around her slip into oblivion as she sees the smaller male turn a full circle in the lab, awe and surprise etched in every ounce of his expression.

He finally completes his second rotation and turns to face her. A light cough escapes his lips as he finally finds himself under her scrutiny. Sharp eyes delving into his soul and beyond.

He points at the Talon, just beyond the expanse of T’Challa’s office, outside glass, strong enough to take on the world.

“You made that?”

The words ring against Shuri’s ears. For a second she doesn’t know what to say but has so much to say. There are things that she must show this person. Things Shuri designed while she waited and hoped and prayed to meet them. She wants to show off the color in her lab, her hair, her clothes, her everything. She needs to tell him how long she waited. She wants to know what took him so long. There is nothing that leaves her lips and there is so much for her to say.

Shuri takes in a breath and tries to vocalize something, anything, everything that swirls in her mind and twirls behind her lips.

“I thought you would be taller.”

Perhaps not just anything.

To her relief, the words cause a smile bright enough to outshine the sun and all the stars in the universe combined stretches across the face peering up at her.

“Wow, um hi. I’m Peter. Oh, His Highness already said that. And I’m Spiderman. Like a guy with spider powers but not all powers, just some of them. And I don’t know why I told you that. I mean you’re my Heartmate. Well I’m your Heartmate and I guess I could tell you that cause I know your brother’s a panther. No, I mean your brother’s the panther, the Black Panther and I guess you already know that cause that’s your brother and well maybe you didn’t know that. But, you know that now and I’m going to stop talking now.”

There were words spoken and phrases said but Shuri wonders if they had any meaning at all.

“It is, by Bast, it’s great to finally meet you Peter.”

Shuri finally gives into the rushing against her mind, the crushing in her heart and the whispers of her soul. Pulling the slighter figure into a tight hug, she feels the universe tilt on its axis and right itself. There are so many things that are still left unsaid. So many things that Shuri wants to speak and show and write.

But for a moment stretching eternally in to a forever, she just holds the person she had waited her whole like for in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude chapter, another shameless plug of my Tumblr account. 
> 
> [x](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me, I'm lonely!


	7. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back in business ladies and gentlepeeps!  
> I apologize for the -extremely- long delay. A bunch of RL stuff had me tied up and then I lost the chapter I had been working on because my computer went belly up. I am currently without a computer and have been finding it hard to write. Hopefully that will be rectified soon and I can start supplying you with more goodness.

Sunsets over the cliffs of Mount Bashenga were the most beautiful in all of Wakanda, a land where every sunset was beautiful. T’Challa had always taken a pause in his day to admire the brilliance of nature before him and missed it sorely when he was not able to. Watching them had only been cemented by his late cousin’s words. But the sunrises in Jabari land were quickly becoming his second, if not most favorite but he would never voice the sentiment lest the news made its way to his heartmate, favorite sight. His mind wandered over all that had occurred in the short time since he had become king. There was sorrow and grief and hope and determination swirling into a maelstrom in his mind. There was much to be done and the work seemed never ending. Funerals and judgments waited in the wings. Delegations and deliberations pulled him in all directions, all the time. Yet here, as he watched the first rays of sunshine illuminate the landscape and refract off the ever-present snow, he felt an odd sense of calm and serene peace. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a warm, thick furred blanket wrap around his shoulders. Perhaps the peace was a bit too much. He had not heard a single footstep in his reverie. 

“You have finally come to my land again and you spend your time brooding at the sunset?”

T’Challa turned to face the grinning Jabari leader. The infectious smile brought one to his own lips. 

“Perhaps that is all your land is good for? For a king to stand and brood over.”

A soft huff left the taller man as he turned to gaze at the landscape that had just been the center of T’Challa’s focus. 

“Then you can take your brooding back to your city, iktana.” 

His smile turned to a deep frown as he glared, unconvincingly, at the Jabari. M’Baku remained unaffected. 

“I have told you, do not to call me that.” 

“And I have told you, I will call you what I please.”

It was the Panther King’s turn to huff, he could almost sense the grin on his companion’s face getting broader. It was time to focus on what he had originally came to the Jabari Chief’s tribe for. 

“There is something…” “T’Challa, I must speak…”

His words halted as they both spoke at the same time. He and his companion chuckled slightly and he tried once more. 

“Go on,” T’Challa gestured, “you first.”

He watched as M’Baku’s stance became just slightly rigid and the man cleared his throat.

“I want to… that is to say… I would like… what I’m trying to say is… Would you like…”

The words were mumbled and hard to understand and M’Baku’s eyes were everywhere except on the man he was speaking with. 

“M’Baku?”

He heard the man huff and finally fix his gaze on the sun that had mostly risen above the horizon and made the land come alive as if someone had scattered jewels across the land. 

“Many years ago. When we met. When we shared our words. I did you a great injustice. I ran away. I was, I was afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of the results. I was Jabari. I had been in your city following some convoluted sense of righteousness. I had to prove to myself that Birnin Zana was everything that I imagined. Instead, I was given the greatest gift I could have ever hoped for. And I…” 

T’Challa wanted to reach out to his companion and take away the uncertainty that filled his voice. He did not want to hear the shaky lilt to his words as if he was writing away his life. 

The broad chest before him heaved as M’Baku took a fortifying breath, “I ran like a coward, I could hear you crying out for me. I left my heartmate, the other half of my soul, weeping in the night and did not turn back.”

M'Baku stepped away from him and began pacing the length of the chamber, “. I turned down the greatest gift Hanuman could have bestowed upon because of imaginary fears. Not once but twice. I sought to harm you at the falls. I raised my blade against my heartmate. It is anathema to the Jabari. Those that raise their arms against their heartmates as worthy of a fate worse than death. And I? I bruised you, I scarred you. Because my pride demanded it of me. I believed myself to be worthy to be king. What king harms his heartmate? What man harms his heartmate?”

T’Challa could no longer stand the tears that welled up in his heartmate’s eyes. His chest ached with each trembling breath. He could not let this go any farther than it already had. 

“You also saved me.” 

M’Baku looked startled, as if he had forgotten he had an audience to his self-flagellation. 

“You could have easily left me to my fate. Left N’jadaka to rule Wakanda. Instead you brought me to your healers and insured that I was safe until I was well. You knew it would set Jabari on the path of Kill Monger’s ire. Instead you chose to save me. Not once but twice. You turned the tides of battle. Returned Wakanda to the Black Panther when you could have easily let the battle continue and attacked whichever wounded party remained. You have been with me every step of the way sense and have lent me support in decisions I’ve made and offered guidance in those I was unsure of. I hold no grudge against you, M’Baku. There is no hatred for you in my heart. There is only…,” T’Challa brought his own rambling to a halt before he went too far. 

“There is only what?” 

T’Challa was surprised to see how close M’Baku had gotten during his short rant, “What?”

“What is in your heart if there is no hatred?” Alarmingly close, T’Challa found himself having to crane his neck ever so slightly in order to look the man in the eyes. 

“Admiration, hope,” his voice sounded lost to his ears. He could feel M’Baku’s breath on his lips, “love.”

His breath escaped him in a quiet puff of air as he felt lips upon his own. The kiss was more than breath taking. Thick arms wound their way around his midsection as he was pulled closer to the broad chest he had been secretly admiring only moments ago. 

All around them, the sun continued to rise welcoming them into a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A returning chapter is the best chapter for shameless plug. 
> 
> [x](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me and read all of the stuff I don't post here.


	8. Interlude with M'Baku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!  
> I'm back!  
> I'm so sorry for the wait and how long it took me to write this chapter. I have been struggling through some mental issue as of late. BUT! I am now medicated and ready to work!
> 
> ALSO!!!! Thank you all for the lovely kudos and all of you who have read this and have been leaving comments. They mean a lot to me and at points have been the glimmer of positive I've needed in may day. 5000+ people have read this!
> 
> One small story update. I've removed chapter 5 and moved the text to chapter 4. The flow of the chapters felt sort of clunky to me because I split it into two parts so I've remedied that. Also, the rating has been changed. I didn't know if I should go with Mature or Explicit so I've put E just in case. Also, also, thank you so much for reading and leaving kudos. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Chief M’Baku of the Jabari, the Great Gorilla, was not intimidated. He was not. He was the chief of the powerful, mountain dwelling Jabari. He was the chosen of the Great White Gorilla. He was Hanuman’s avatar in human form. He was a master of combat and a devious tactician.

And he was not intimidated by the smiling War Dog of the River Tribe turned Head of social outreach and the chosen heartmate of his own. He was not sweating rivers under the lighter armor he chose to wear in the sunny plains of Wakanda. Nor had he mapped every route out of the small café and the entirety of Birnin Zana and into the mountains. For he was not nervous nor intimidated.

Not even a little.

Something deep inside him had known this was a bad idea when T’Challa suggested M’Baku join them for their weekly lunch date with Nakia. That same feeling had started running in circles in a frenzy when T’Challa informed him merely hours before that he had to attend an emergency meeting in the UN regarding the California outreach center but insisted that M’Baku and Nakia have lunch without him. He had been adamant that he would join them soon.

Slender hands cupped a steaming cup of tea as she studied him studying her.

As if tugged by invisible strings, M’Baku’s eyes kept travelling to her shoulder where the line of the dress showed him a hint of white. Just the first two words of a singularly rebellious act that few would have gone through with. The blocky script of the Wakandan language in stark white against umber skin.

M’Baku had spent hours worshipping the answered words carved into the same shoulder of his heartmate. Peppering the white in kisses to drown the memory of sorrow. Seated here and now, he wondered if he had been doing so for himself and not his beloved.

“Is the tea not to your liking, Chief M’Baku?” The words startled the taller man out of his thoughts.

“Oh… Uh… No, the tea is fine.” It was not. The brew had a burnt and bitter taste as opposed the fragrant scent of mountain grown flowers he knew by heart.

“T’Challa sends his apologies. He will not be able to return until late into the night.”

“Is everything well?”

“He has been delayed by yet another UN delegate. Their demands on his time are becoming quite incessant.”

“Yes. They have been.” That he could attest to.

“Hummm…” He was now being studied once again over the rim of the clay cup. “T’Challa seemed very happy last I spoke to him. Ecstatic even.”

“Y- Was he truly?” M’Baku tried to remember when he had seen his heartmate speak to Nakia. He did not spend much time in their presence, choosing to give them a measure of privacy.

“He was. We spoke when he returned from Jabari land. It was quite infectious.” Her lips turned upward from the slight smirk a crocodile gives to its prey into a genuine smile. “I was very happy to know that it was your doing.”

M’Baku’s lips still tingled with the memory of the kiss and something in heart ached to hold his heartmate once more.

“I have known your identity for many years. It has been yet another secret T’Challa and I have withheld from the world. It was not hard to learn the coveted mark the Chief of Jabari had carved into his soul. I have also hated you. For almost as many years.” She lifted her hand to silence whatever protest that M’Baku was going to make. “I do not hate you now. Nor have I for quite some time. He is happy with you than without. More happy then he has been.”

She finished her tea is one last gulp as her kimoyo beads started to blink insistently. “Hmm… looks like I’m needed in the meeting after all.” She stepped around the table and bent down towards his ear. Her voice a low rumble.

“I do know that I have no need to warn you from hurting him. It would be like taking off a limb. Willingly. But do know, I will travel the lengths of the universe to bring your head on a silver platter to lay at my king’s feet.” She gave him a twisting smile that most certainly belonged to a crocodile.

“Do give him my love.” She said louder and gave his cheek a quick peck before rushing off.

Not intimidated in the least.

\---

“So you have come down from your mountain to brood at my sunsets now?” A quiet laugh accompanied the statement. M’Baku had been much engrossed in the sunset, comparing and contrasting the blend of colors and shapes between the memory of his home land and the land that was quickly feeling like home.

The lunch being cut short had been all the que the young Wakandan princess had needed to drag him all over the city and make him endure hours of her chattering on and on. Her newest favorite subject was her recently discovered heartmate. Thus, M’Baku was now knowledgable in a slew of useless facts about the young boy. Between his favorite color to his favorite food to his least favorite genre of music and how Shuri had introduced him to Wakandan music, M’Baku felt as though he knew the young hero better than he knew himself. He had been saved moments after he started contemplating the strength of the vibranium infused glass that surrounded the lab and jumping out to the mines below by a Dora guard informing him that the king had returned.

“I came to see the view from your city down below and the sunsets you so admire.” M’Baku throat rumbled as he felt his mark sing in delight at his heartmate’s proximity.

The mark was still the color of midnight under the thick jungle.

“Hmm… and how does it compare?” He felt the king lean against his arm as his eyes remained transfixed on the sight before him.

“I feel it is much like the Panther King who gazes upon it.”

“How so?”

“Bothersome, annoying, obnoxious, troublesome,” he felt more than heard the laughter that shook T’Challa’s form as he turned towards him.

“Is that all?” He felt his heart seize a little at the smiling face that greeted him.

“No, it is also breathtaking, enthralling, bewitching,” his lips met the supple lips of the panther before him coaxing them into a bruising, claiming kiss, “and I find it harder and harder to be apart from it.”

Their lips met again and again. Breathless and unwilling to part. Hands left burning trails of fire against skin, mapping out every inch they could reach.

Somewhere, someone gasped. The rush of air against his shoulder as his teeth found purchase on a slender neck, then shoulder, collar bone and then the dusky nipples that he had been teasing told him that it was the man before him.

M’Baku’s skin felt too tight and not tight enough around him. He could burst or melt with want, need. The want to claim the body before him, mark and make it his, shout it from the corners of the known universe. The need to pull his heartmate closer, worship him, make him cry out in ceaseless wonder and pleasure.

Everything around him was melting and he was lost in a sensation of too little and too much.

Someone begged. Someone gasped and quivered and shook and cried out in pleasure as thick ropes of white coated his hands.

Absently, his minded wondered when they had reached the bed on which T’Challa was writhing on, when had he found the oil that coated his fingers, when had those fingers wound their way inside the king. Those wonderings melted away to background noise as his fingers brushed against a knot of nerves that had T’Challa arching into a tantalizing bow.

Edges of his vision whited out, pleasure thrumming through his every nerve as he slid into the waiting body below him. M’Baku felt like a live wire, a single touch could send him over the edge.

Ragged breaths and bruised lips met in a feverish dance. Pleas and begging mixed into each shuddering gasp.

His rhythm matched the heartbeat only inches away from him.

There was a fire building along his side, he felt hands trail over the words marking his very being. His own found its way down to T’Challa’s wrist, wrapping around the words.

Gold. Everything in his mind was gold as he felt something snap in place. A knowing, a fulfilling, a part of himself that had never been there sliding into place.

Lips cried out his name against his neck as he too whispered the name of lover against a heaving shoulder, spilling into the quivering heat around him.

The world slowed to a crawl. There was nothing around him. No noise or sound. He was hardly even breathing. Or perhaps the broken, ragged panting was his own.

All he knew was the man below him was his. Eternally. He was etched into M’Baku’s very soul, just as M’Baku was a part of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop by if you want to see everything else I post on a supposedly writing blog... 
> 
> [x](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come join me and read all of the stuff I don't post here.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is finished for now! I will be posting a brand spanking new fic that will follow along Infinity War. It should be up soon so keep your eyes peeled!!!


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